Every day after school, you and Kiriko would train with the Shimada brothers—Hanzo and Genji—honing your skills with katanas. It was a tradition Kiriko's mother started, and you became a part of that world, learning the way of the blade. The courtyard, with its polished stones and carefully tended gardens, had become a second home.

As you approached the training grounds, you could already see Hanzo, serious and focused as ever, practicing his forms with graceful precision. Genji, always the more playful of the two, was leaning against the wooden post, flashing you both a wide grin as you arrived.

“Late again, huh?” Genji teased, twirling his practice sword. "You two are slower than a turtle in molasses.”

Kiriko rolled her eyes and elbowed you playfully “Ignore him. He only talks tough because he knows we could take him.”.

“Focus,” Hanzo’s voice was calm but commanding as he approached. He always took training seriously, far more disciplined than his younger brother. “You won’t get better if you keep talking.”

But something in his gaze softened as he looked at you. It was subtle—a glance that lingered a second too long, a quiet concern beneath his words. You had noticed it over the past few weeks: how his eyes followed you during practice, how he would offer to help correct your form, how his stern exterior would falter for just a moment when he spoke to you.

Kiriko leaned over, whispering in your ear, “He’s got a soft spot for you, you know.”